Lack of Colour
by Samhaim Girl
Summary: Secret Diary of a Call Girl/Secret Smile Brendan needed sex; Belle needed humanity. Neither one of them needed each other. But that fact didn't alter just how much they ended up wanting each other...


**BELLE**

Ten centimeters.

_Hard_.

Belle took a deep breath in, forcing a smile upon her lips. Turning her eyes up to meet his – what's his name again? Bill? Jason? Shit. – she spread her legs as wide open as she could, hoping that he could go a bit deeper that way, and he moaned; oh, who'd have known, little CEO over here liked it wide! With another, longer moan, he pushed himself into her with his hands (not that he really needed any extra help) and she held her naughty smile on just long enough for him to fall completely on top of her and scrunch his forehead against her shoulder blade.

Yeah, that was going well.

He moved over her, and she assumed he was going deeper, so she forced a long, guttural moan up her throat, as she widened her eyes to the ceiling, wondering (not for the first time that week, must be added) what the fuck she was doing there. She remembered clearly why she chose sex as a profession: she liked it, and it gave her loads of money and free time. She wasn't quite fond of having to lie to her family – well, to her mum and dad, her sister was a bitch anyways – or of some of the crazy stuff she was asked to do but, overall, it wasn't half bad.

So she really wanted to know when it all had become so _meh_.

As she gave another, louder moan, she made the greatest of efforts not to think about the obvious answer.

Ben.

Just thinking about him made her heart pang, and she jerked her hips up against Mr. CEO – _Jude! Yes, that was his name!_ – trying real hard to forget about him again. It was so great when she wasn't thinking about Ben, all lonely and empty and quiet, so peaceful, that she really hated when he popped into her mind. He had gotten back with his girlfriend, moved out of town, moved on; there was no reason to go on and on and on about it all the time. It was over. She had lost him. It was time to have gotten over it, too.

**"Ahhh"** Jude moaned in her shoulder, and she forced her feet on the mattress, tilting her knees and pushing her hips into his, her skin and his melding into each other – but still not enough feeling. She moaned again and again, and he moved in and out without her feeling it, and she had to wonder again why she kept up with that.

_Well, it's not as if I'm good at anything else._

That was a bit of a lie. She had always been a decent writer, and she supposed she could actually be an assistant to a legal attorney, as she posed to be, but it was too much trouble. Ok, so it wasn't fun anymore, but she didn't starve completely and every now and then she'd meet someone that actually gave her real pleasure or another that just wanted to talk.

She missed talking.

**"Ohh, you're so hot…!" **Jude grumbled as he pushed in and out of her, and she held his bum tightly with her fingers, pushing him further in (still no sign of feeling, though).

**"You're so good"** she whispered the words into his ear, biting lightly his lobe. It wasn't that she didn't like this part, the light-hearted acting, the spur of the moment lies she made up; she loved being Belle. Belle had power, Belle was sexy and seductive and beautiful and confident, all that Hannah had to struggle so much to be. But she missed being Hannah every now and then; being Belle turned out to be overpowering at times. Sometimes she wanted to sneak into some jeans and try to figure out which were the best chips in London. Ben had allowed her to do that whenever she needed to.

Sneaking her legs around Jude's hips, she watched his shoulders coming more and more quickly up and down, and clenched her inner muscles tightly as much as she could, moaning his name a couple times; saying his name so many times made her mind get stuck singing _Hey, Jude_ by The Beatles, and as she moaned his name again and again and he took speed, growing apparently more and more desperate with every move, she stared at the ceiling.

_Hey, Jude, don't be afraid, just pick a sad song and make it better…_

* * *

Hours later, she was still humming to The Beatles' tune, trying to convince herself to be happy for the easily pleased costumer, and not sad for the lack of excitement.

Didn't matter how much she played Belle to herself, she couldn't quite be convinced of it.

* * *

**BRENDAN**

After five years, he couldn't quite remember the sound of her moans. After about eleven months in prison, he thought he'd have moved on when he finally went out of there (because he really didn't want to remember the 'life in prison' part of the judge's speech), but against all odds and his mostly useless inner rules, he still loved (love? Did that really exist?) Miranda Cotton as much as the first time he had seen her in that stupid ice rink.

In the end it wasn't such a long time ago. He still remembered the night they had first make love. He remembered the way her hair was, and the jeans jacket she wore. He remembered her sheets were soft and that she had an awful coffee maker, but details like her voice, or what was the first thing she had said to him were starting to become blurry. That was, perhaps, a side effect of the five glasses of whiskey he had in front of him, all paid by Miranda's great clean money.

Just a month before, his attorney had come up with news from Miranda. She wasn't dead at all, apparently, and it was all a plan to keep Brendan locked up forever while she lived a great life with Naomi. He couldn't prevent himself from making jokes about how they should start a romantic relationship since they were so close, but deep inside he knew he was just angry at Naomi and disappointed at Miranda. There was a moment somewhere in the past when he had thought that all that stalking was because she loved him and wanted to be with him. As she had proved him, this surely wasn't the truth. Neil, his old good attorney, found everything out about Miranda in less than a month and the court had to apologize to him in an official audience, as well as Miranda had to pay him a good amount of indemnity. He wanted to say he was glad to know she was alive, more than he wanted to admit he welcomed the money, but it was way past the time he lied to himself, so he just faced he still loved money as much as he had always done. And considering the only letter his sister had sent him while he was in prison, he couldn't exactly count on her. Brendan could still remember exactly the lines written in a tremble handwritten. How much she was happy to know he would finally leave people alone and assuring him that if he ever needed something in prison, she'd provide him, whether it was blankets or cigarettes, but that she wanted to never lay eyes on him again.

He didn't care, of course, because for him she was as dead as his parents, burnt in the same fire, useless as any family member he could ever had. Sometimes, late at night when he was feeling particularly lonely – which didn't happen often – he missed talking. That had been the worst part of being in jail. No one had ever messed up with him, humiliated him in any way, or even bought a fight; they just stayed there, staring at him like he was some sort of rare animal in a zoo. His story had ran through the cells like water in a river running down hill, but still people didn't seem quite fond of talking to him. But Brendan knew better, he was better than everybody else in there, and he was stronger too, and where everyone else had failed, he'd succeed. He didn't mind being in silence for long times, because every now and then his attorney would visit him and they'd talk, and he always had his dreams to cling to, where he could be anywhere, doing what he liked, without the sound of steel bars and complaining lingering on his ears every night when he was about to sleep. He didn't mind being alone, because he was the best company he could ever have, and he had time to make some decisions along those long five years.

And now, sat on the hotel bar, as he slipped his mobile on his fingers, staring at Miranda's number and wondering if he should or shouldn't call her to say thanks, he decided he'd find a really good way to waste that money, in order to never forget how pleasure that stupid blonde could still provide him, she wanting it or not.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed our little crossover, and that you keep on reading on as we post! The idea of Belle/Brendan (Secret Diary of a Call Girl/Secret Smile) had been nagging us for quite some time, but you know how it is to gather courage... So here is the fic, written by me and rocket7roe. A HUGE thanks to Cally, our lovely beta for all the encouragement, and hope to see you on the next chapter!

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